


Redamancy

by blakesparkles



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Dancing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fear of losing, Feral Behavior, Fields and Nature, Idiots in Love, Jaskier is soft and he craves so much, Kissing, Longing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Romance, Sexual Content, Vulnerability, but make it heavenly, clearing, ethereal, lots of inner thoughts, lots of yearning, they are both really silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakesparkles/pseuds/blakesparkles
Summary: The brown-haired man wouldn’t be able to say exactly when he fell in love for the witcher, not really. Perhaps, since their eyes met at a tavern. Or when Geralt placed his coat over Jaskier’s shoulders, after shivering from the cold. All the bard knows is that, right now, his heart belongs to the man.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 281





	Redamancy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone!! First time writing for this fandom and I gotta admit, I'm kinda nervous! I watched the show and I played the games to get more content, to understand the world better and I fell in love with it! Still around 100 hours of the Wild Hunt, but I'm getting there! Regardless.... This may be short but it's also an experience for me, to taste the waters! Enjoy! :)

Redamancy → to have love returned in full; an act of loving the one who loves you; to love with all of you.  


It begins in a clearing.

The starry sky is the roof above their heads and the moonlight is the weak light that bathes their skin. There’s a small fire in the middle of soft grass, twigs and small branches burning to keep them warm during the night. The air is chilly but welcome, embracing them like a blanket. Jaskier is dancing around the campfire barefoot, doublet long gone, and there’s a yellow flower behind his ear. He’s singing low under his breath, spinning gently every now and then. Sometimes, he catches a glimpse of Geralt, who’s resting his back against a tree. Arms crossed and eyes closed. With no protest, Jaskier continues his humming and hearing the flames flicker up to the sky. The brown-haired man moves loosely and he can’t help but wonder if he looks like a witch for outsiders, singing about old gods while an orange light makes him glow. The dirt beneath his feet is cold, grass tickling his ankles, and he enjoys it all. He smiles to himself, coming to a stop only to see white hair a few feet away from him. This time, blue meets gold, and Jaskier draws in air.

The bard runs a hand through his hair, feeling a breeze cooling him down, and he walks towards the witcher with a beating heart. Geralt holds their gaze, sitting completely still. For once, he’s not wearing his armor. It took Jaskier a great effort to convince the man to take it off for one night, after making sure that there was nothing nearby. That they could _rest._ Now, the white-haired man wears a simple black shirt, not fully laced much like the bard’s. Jaskier’s feet make a light sound against the grass and he admires that sight before him, his own smile getting wider. Geralt looks up at him with an usual light scowl but there is nothing cold coming from him. There’s a warmth behind those cat-like eyes of his that wasn’t there before. A warmth that he can’t never fully hide from Jaskier. It’s what happens after traveling for many years. They change together. The brown-haired man extends a hand in the air, listening to the tree leaves moving with the wind.

“Dance with me,” is what he says and Geralt narrows his eyes, a low hum in the back of his throat. Jaskier lifts his chin, lips pursing in a light pout. “It would be awfully rude to leave me waiting, dear.”

The witcher takes a deep breath and there’s a quiet moment where nothing happens, Jaskier hand beginning to lower with a fading smile. Geralt, however, raises his arm to brush the tip of his fingers against the bard’s. They exchange a look and Jaskier’s heart skips a beat, not expecting for the man to accept his request. Geralt gets up and sapphire eyes doesn’t leave his face, lifting his head slightly at their height difference. The bard’s grin comes back, his warm hand on the witcher’s cold one, and he gently steps back to guide them towards the fire. The white-haired man follows without a word, tightening their hold instead. Jaskier licks his lips and he’s singing again, chest rumbling with a melody. He pulls Geralt closer for a spin, holding the man’s arms. It’s quite funny. The witcher dances beautifully in battle, knowing exactly what to do and when to strike his silver sword. That night, he is a little stiff and unsure. He just keeps his gaze at Jaskier, letting the bard sway around him. 

Truth be told, love happens quiet. The brown-haired man wouldn’t be able to say exactly when he fell in love for the witcher, not really. Perhaps, since their eyes met at a tavern. Or when Geralt placed his coat over Jaskier’s shoulders, after shivering from the cold. All the bard knows is that, right now, his heart belongs to the man. Yet, he says nothing. The fear of rejection and losing everything that they’ve build over the years is too loud in his mind. The white-haired man seems to notice a slight change on the bard’s face, grunting deeply as if calling his attention back to the present. The melody falling from Jaskier’s mouth comes to an end and he breathes heavily in front of Geralt, the flames flickering like fireflies in the night next to them. Time stands still between them, words unspoken. When Geralt moves his hand up to Jaskier’s face, his heart betrays his emotions. The bard’s pupils widen, a trace of expectation kissing his mind, but then the witcher’s rough fingers reach towards his left ear.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jaskier sees that buttercup and Geralt twirls it in his fingers. A wolf holding such a fragile thing, with so much care. The bard’s cheeks are flushed from dancing, feet covered in dirt, but he pays that no mind. Instead, his eyes flicker back at golden ones and there are white strands of hair fallen over the man’s face. He wants to brush them away. He wants to caress Geralt’s hair, see him closing his eyes and relaxing in his arms. He wants to hold him after a tired day of fighting and dealing with ignorant people. Jaskier craves so much, it hurts. An ache in his heart that threatens to crush him. In that moment, the witcher stares at him intently, pursing his lips and clearing his throat. Geralt gives him back the flower and something between them breaks. Time ticks again and Jaskier’s face falls. Whatever spell was in that clearing, fades, and the crickets sing too loud in their silent now. Geralt grunts more to himself than anything, looking anywhere but the bard.

“It’s gonna rain.”

Jaskier knits his eyebrows at Geralt’s words, watching the man turn around, and he looks up. The sky is clear, stars twinkling a secret message at them. His frown deepens. The buttercup slips from his fingers, falling onto the ground, and he mutters that it doesn’t seem like it will rain. Geralt just hums in response and goes towards Roach, that so far was quietly resting near a tree. Jaskier crosses his arms on his chest, watching the man gather a small tent to set it up. Was it true what he said or did he just want to step back from whatever that was? Does he smell Jaskier’s disappointment now? How does the bard smell like for him, anyway? The answers never come and he sits down on the grass, listening to Geralt working in the background. Jaskier sighs, lying there on his back like a flower on a meadow, and the moon seems to mock him from above. His expectation returns to the shadows in his heart and frustration takes its place instead. There are times that trick him, moments that he thinks there’s something close to affection in Geralt’s voice. Fragments of hope in the White Wolf.

How foolish of him.

They are a flower and an animal. Different in every way. Even then, Jaskier wants nothing more than to understand the other. He will bleed in the man’s bed, turn it red, just to prove it that he wants everything that involves them. Whatever pain or happiness that they might feel together. He wants it all. Jaskier’s dreams are bigger than him and Geralt’s soul may survive it all, but he will never find rest. Not alone. The brown-haired man is sure of that, because he too can’t find peace by himself. They need one another, whether the witcher likes that or not. A silent call guiding them closer. Destiny. A huff comes from Geralt and he murmurs that he can practically hear the bard’s thoughts, that he should say what he wants already. Jaskier sighs deeper, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

“I’m afraid I will keep them to myself.”

The white-haired man snorts. “Have you fallen ill?”

Fire burns under his skin, irritated over Geralt’s audacity to assume Jaskier’s silence is from a sickness. As if he needs a real excuse to act such a way. The brown-haired man lets out an annoyed sound before he can’t stop himself, getting up and turning his back towards the witcher. Jaskier pays no mind over his bare feet and walks away, opposite from the man. Geralt calls his name but he refuses to respond, that peace from before gone. He returns to the dark forest in a way to clear his thoughts alone, without oblivion and ignorance. Leaves shuffle after every step and the tree branches sway in the night, crickets and owls singing under their breaths. Cold wind brushes against his skin and he breathes in, wandering without destination. Gods, why can’t he just move on? Why, of all people, did his heart choose a witcher? A clueless brute that has eyes only to his Path. There is compassion in Geralt’s heart, he’s sure of that. There is _so_ much emotion. That’s not the problem. Jaskier just seems to never reach that. To have Geralt opening up to him. To be vulnerable.

Stubbornness lives in both of them, so he continues walking. Jaskier shivers from a cooler breeze and he regrets not bringing his doublet. Too late now. He will not come back to their camp after his triumphant exit. Jaskier still has some dignity, thank you very much. He does come to a stop and rests his back against bark, puffing his cheeks and trying to pick himself together. Putting away deeper feelings so he can face a tomorrow. How unfair of destiny to make him suffer, knowing he won’t part from Geralt despite it all. The corners of his eyes sting, unwelcome tears watering sapphire. He covers his face with a hand, burying his toes into dirt as distraction. It’s there that he silently cries, hating every second of it. He wipes every tear as soon as they fall, nose and eyes turning red. Jaskier’s heart clenches and he does his best to calm down, knowing this will pass and they will start another day without yearning. What a cruel feeling that is. So raw, it leaves him breathless.

Once he swallows a last cry, he straightens himself and looks up. The bastard was right. Grey clouds slowly make their way, covering the beautiful night sky. Jaskier huffs, hugging himself for warmth and the quietness of it all rings into his ears. Just when he finishes picking his broken heart pieces, Geralt decides to step in. He makes a noise not to startle the bard right away, stepping harder to give away his presence. Jaskier holds back a third sigh, pursing his lips, and he turns his face to the side when the man shows up next to him. Did he follow the boy’s heartbeat? His scent? No matter. The white-haired man walks to be in front of him instead, realizing Jaskier won’t look that way. Regardless, the bard’s gaze doesn’t find his, as painful as that can be. Geralt hums, that shadow of his looming over Jaskier’s frame.

“Tell me,” the witcher’s hoarse voice breaks the silence.

“It’s nothing, Geralt.”

“You’re upset.”

“And you’re being childish.”

Jaskier looks at him when saying that, embarrassed of his red face and dried tears, but amber eyes show nothing more than concern. Geralt’s lips tightens and the first raindrop falls onto Jaskier’s cheek, making him gasp lightly. The air is tense between them and yet, the witcher steps closer with narrowed eyes, but the brown-haired man is not intimidated by that. There’s no fear in his heart. It never has and it never will. Not when it comes to Geralt. Rain falls as promised while they glare at one another, Jaskier’s hair beginning to stick onto his forehead and neck. The white-haired man makes no move to leave, ignoring his own clothes slowly getting wet. Despite the cold, Jaskier feels like breathing fire into his lungs. They are so close and he wants nothing more than to reach for the man, yet he remains still. Geralt tilts his head to the side, searching for something in the boy’s eyes.

“Tell me,” he repeats in a growl and Jaskier shivers at that, lifting his chin up to stand his ground. _“Jaskier.”_

He sees Geralt’s small fangs when saying his name and he wants to feel them on his fingers. The brown-haired man blinks, damp eyelashes batting against porcelain skin, and he licks his lips. Geralt’s eyes flicker down to his mouth for a moment, a grunt in the air, and Jaskier’s heart flutters. A familiar hope blooms in him that could be mistaken with despair. Words get stuck in the bard’s throat, choking him silently. Gods, he wishes to tell him. He does. It’s suffocating to keep these feelings locked for so long, but would he risk it all? Would he? Jaskier’s face scrunches up, unsure of what to do, so he shakes his head again in agony. Geralt mirrors his grimace, raindrops streaming down his neck. His cheeks. His mouth. Bless the rain, for his tears are lost with it in that moment. Jaskier swallows, pressing himself more against the tree.

“I can’t,” he whispers. “Please, just leave me be.”

“No.”

“Why?” Jaskier huffs, frustration building up. “Why do you insist still?”

The witcher seems to struggle to find words of his own, chest rising with a deep breath, and the bard’s shuddering from the cold now. They’re soaking wet and Jaskier really wished he had his doublet on. Geralt gets impossibly closer, their noses daring to brush, and he feels the man’s hum. Jaskier holds his breath, trapped against bark. His heart is beating like a drum and he’s sure that the witcher can hear it perfectly, like a personal song.

“Because…” Geralt drawls. “It’s you.”

He speaks as if that’s the most obvious thing in the world, staring at Jaskier like he’s the one that’s confused. The white-haired man huffs with a smirk and that’s what ticks off Jaskier. The bard knits his eyebrows, wondering if Geralt knew about everything all this time. He’s provoking Jaskier, isn’t he? Playing with him to see his reaction. How rude of him, to toy with his feelings. The brown-haired man is certain that Geralt does care for him as a friend, but nothing more. He wouldn’t say things like that, if not for humor. Jaskier has come to terms with his unrequited love and he was just now tending to his wounded heart. Rain kisses the bard’s lips and he shoves Geralt back with a groan.

“Do you jest?!” he barks and hits the man’s chest once more, creating space between them. “Do not mock me, Geralt! You can’t do this to me, I won’t stand hearing lies for your pleasure. Quite frankly, I expected more of you!”

A thunder rumbles in the dark sky and a lightning reveals Jaskier’s glassy eyes, blue gems shining bright for the witcher. He wipes his face to no vain and turns around, ready to go back to their camp and just forget about everything. A hand around his wrist stops him, calloused fingers tightening its hold. Jaskier grimaces, facing the man again, and Geralt is quick when cupping his cheeks. It surprises the bard, eyes widening at the touch, and the witcher stares so intently as if seeking his very soul. Jaskier can’t do anything but stare back, his rabbit heart skipping to his throat, and Geralt rubs his thumbs on the boy’s skin.

“I can smell your sorrow,” is what the man murmurs. His breath is warm against Jaskier’s face, making him swallow audibly. He’s frozen in place, not knowing what to do with those strong hands caressing him so tenderly. “Do not take me for a fool, Jaskier…”

“You really wanna hear me say it, don’t you?” the bard weeps, face scrunching up in emotion. Fine. So be it, then. Anything to get out of this bloody rain and stubbornness. Let this be the end of their friendship and adventures, if that’s what the White Wolf wants. His hands find Geralt’s damp shirt, fingers curling on his chest in agony and rage. “I’m smitten with you! I am! So enamored, I’m afraid I don’t know what to do with myself! It pains me to see you finding warmth in some stranger’s bed! It pains me to see you leaving every time, never sure if you will come back! If I’ll see you again! I’m _hurting_ , Geralt! Are you fucking satisfied?!”

“If you think seeing you hurt pleases me, you are mistaken,” the white-haired man snaps back, resting his chest against Jaskier’s. “So no, I’m not satisfied with that.”

Then, he speaks in whispers. So weak, it makes the bard’s knees tremble. He says he can’t bear seeing Jaskier that way, not again. That he knew about that affection, yes. The quiet glances whenever Geralt wasn’t really looking. The way his scent would turn spicer and flowery. His desire and longing. _So_ much longing. A wave of embarrassment turns Jaskier’s cheeks pink, thinking he was being discreet. The witcher’s expression softens for him, wiping rain from his cheeks. They may be tears but Jaskier can’t tell them apart anymore. Still, he cannot phantom the idea of Geralt reciprocating. Why would he? The bard is a mere human that’s always on his way. Is he not an annoyance? A burden? The White Wolf grunts as if catching his thoughts, muttering that he’s thinking too much. Jaskier can’t help it and rain pours. He blinks several times, shivering, and the witcher speaks like never before. He groans about wanting to keep his distance, that he would bring only pain but he can’t keep seeing Jaskier like that. It’s not worth it if they are both hurting.

Perhaps it’s just a trick of his eyes, but every raindrop freezes in the air when Geralt leans forward. Time ends, only their heartbeats holding their existence, and Jaskier lips part when feeling their breaths. A fever dream, this must be. Destiny took pity of him and gave him a mirage. When their lips brush, however, his mind tells him that it’s all real. For Geralt’s mouth is warm and rough. Jaskier knits his eyebrows and they merely rest their lips against each other, breathing into their mouths with hesitation. His heart threatens to escape his body, rain deafening his ears, and he would be on the ground if it weren’t for the witcher’s hold. He draws in air when Geralt adds pressure, hands making their way to touch white hair. A fire burns inside him, sparks beneath his skin. Soft lips tasting pure heaven. He could die right there and then. The witcher wraps an arm around his waist, grunting into his wet mouth, and he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Jaskier moans, warm tongue meeting his, and he buries fingers into that long hair. If Geralt is giving him this one thing, he will be selfish. He will want every second of it.

Stubble brushes against peach skin and Jaskier gasps, eyes fluttering at the feeling. Their lips make a sound when pulling back, cold air filling his lungs, and he’s so weak. He can’t bring himself to meet Geralt in the eyes, looking down instead.

“You think I’m lying.”

Jaskier chuckles albeit dry, gathering courage to look into golden eyes. “Well, forgive me for thinking that’s too good to be true. I thought I was going to be the one teaching you that we… We could... We could work, you know. Not the other way around.”

That hold on his face returns and Jaskier leans into the touch like he belongs there. Geralt’s hands, so often stained with crimson. The bard’s are not any cleaner, carrying sins of his own, and in that way they are equal. Despite different memories, they hold the same feeling in their hearts. A weight on both of their shoulders. That’s what he wanted to show Geralt all this time. That they can make it work and help one another with their own demons. It seemed impossible for the witcher to accept that, though. So he never dared to speak. Now, they have proven to be both fools. Running away while never moving. Ignoring glances and fighting urges to turn it into something more. Something so meaningful, it would destroy them to lose each other. Was he really as blind as that man? Does he crave just as much as Jaskier? A small plea answers his question when Geralt bumps his nose on the boy’s cheek, hugging him close. The bard lets out a shaky breath, their lips brushing.

“D-Do… Do you really want me?” he dares to ask. “Because, Geralt, I swear to the gods… My heart won’t survive if-”

“Yes.”

Jaskier’s cry is muffled by their kiss and the white-haired man gently guides him backwards, until his back rests against bark. The bard devours Geralt’s mouth, a desperate man seeking a sweet nectar, and he shudders at a deep growl. Rough hands find their way underneath Jaskier’s wet shirt, feeling cool and soft skin. The moon is the only witness of their confession and it’s overwhelming. They break a long kiss to breathe and they just hold one another. Chest to chest. He buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, quietly weeping. A single word bringing him to tears. Jaskier’s knees buckle but the White Wolf doesn’t let him fall. Instead, Geralt picks him up so the bard’s feet are dangling in the air. The brown-haired man wraps his arms around strong shoulders and Geralt whispers they should go back, that he doesn’t want the other to catch a cold. Jaskier chuckles, muffled by pale skin. He nods, but makes no motion to let go.

“Take me,” he voices. “Take me with you.”

Geralt does just that, guiding them back in slow steps. Keeping a firm grip around the bard’s waist. Jaskier soothes his heart, emotions so overpowering it left him exhausted. The witcher is nothing but careful when they arrive at the clearing, lowering the bard so they can enter into the small tent. It’s just enough for them to lie down, as improvised as it is, and there’s no complain leaving Jaskier’s lips. It’s warmer inside and Geralt crawls up to be on top of him, kissing his jaw and cheek. The bard moves to find that rough mouth once more, thirsty for it, and he sighs lovingly. The white-haired man sucks his bottom lip, biting and ripping out a moan from Jaskier. It’s easy to get lost in those arms, blushing from head to toes when the man tugs on his clothes. Is this really happening? Melitele help him, for he is overwhelmed with love. Jaskier throws his head back at a bite on his neck, hips buckling up. Geralt groans like an animal, tearing apart the other’s clothes. Muttering things that makes Jaskier’s cheeks burn. He pants, taking care of the witcher as well, and there’s despair in their moves.

When they’re skin-to-skin, the brown-haired man lets out a whimper.

Jaskier traces familiar scars, knowing the stories behind recent ones, and Geralt sighs. He pecks pale skin, praising every inch of it, and brushes the witcher’s wet hair away from his face. There. Admiration in the man’s eyes. Who would’ve thought? Jaskier smiles and moans with their touch. The White Wolf looks down at him through hazy eyes, watching the bard squirm and hearing sweet sounds. Rain muffled by their hymn. The brown-haired man trembles and he moans into Geralt’s mouth while being stretched. It’s glorious. Raw and full of affection. Tender touches between future bruises. When he’s full, air leaves his lungs and he shakes harder with a gasp. Jaskier holds onto the witcher’s shoulders, both gathering themselves, and Geralt rubs a thumb on his back. Soothing him. The bard sobs, nails digging into marred skin, and they move together with a mewl. He tigthens his hold, almost afraid that Geralt will disappear. That he will wake up and find this to be a mere dream. He begs that he doesn’t wake up. Not right now.

“I’m right here,” the white-haired man whispers into his ear, burying his face in the crook of the bard’s neck. “I’m right here, Jas.”

“G-Geralt…”

The bard arches his body to match the White Wolf’s hunger, tensing up. The heat below his navel burns and his toes curl, knitting his eyebrows in pleasure. He swears under his breath and Geralt huffs heavily above him with their thrusts. It’s feral. Violent in the best way. Jaskier moans, shuffling every now and then, and he’s close. He can’t wait much longer. It’s all too much. Geralt must sense it, sinking his small fangs in the curve of the man’s neck, and his possessive hold is what does it for Jaskier. He chokes a mewl, eyes rolling back, and he spasms from his release. The white-haired man tenses up, following the bard soon after. They breathe heavily through sloppy kisses, riding their orgasms with pure bliss. How wonderful it is, to taste love that way. Jaskier wants to feel that until his very last day.

The White Wolf breathes into his scent, something close to a whimper reaching the bard’s ears, and they hug one another. They stay still for a moment, calming down their hearts, and Jaskier feels like floating. His smile turns into a chuckle, shoulders shaking and face scrunching up. Geralt hums, his weight welcome on top of Jaskier. An enormous and ridiculous sense of happiness pours from the brown-haired man’s heart. They truly are silly. Jaskier’s still processing what happened, what this all means. He stares up at the tent, fabric muffling the rain outside, and white strands of hair tangles on his fingers. The man is relaxed and Jaskier keeps that memory close to his heart, wanting to cherish it forever. He will never forget this.

“What do I smell like...? To you, I mean?” Jaskier catches himself wondering, barely a whisper as if that’s a secret, and there’s a hum.

“Home,” Geralt mutters without a second thought. “You smell like home.”

At that, Jaskier has to close his eyes to keep himself whole. Love has never been like this. So vast, they could destroy anything that stands on their way. It’s breathtaking. To think that Geralt feels even a small fraction of what the bard carries in his heart, is maddening. Mesmerizing. He caresses the man’s back, thinking that there will be time for more of this. For more conversations and understanding. There is no rush now and exhaustion settles in harder as proof. Jaskier sighs and he sleeps, knowing he’s safe and sound in those arms.

The rain is replaced by a sunning day, flowers blooming once more and animals finding their homes. Jaskier rubs his eyes, taking a deep breath, and he’s lying on his side. A thick animal fur covering him. His hair is dry, curling slightly over his forehead, and he stretches his sore body with a groan. The witcher is lying across from him, already awake, and Jaskier flushes when their eyes meet. Memories from last night so fresh in his mind. There’s serenity in Geralt’s expression. Something he never quite saw on the man before. Jaskier’s heart clenches, sapphire doe-eyes searching for rejection but finding none. Instead, there’s peace. So, the brown-haired man extends an arm towards him, fingers brushing on his cheek. Geralt shuts his eyes at the feeling, humming, and that makes the bard smile. When the witcher kisses his hand, his heart mends. Unspoken promises leave him with anticipation, curious as to what may come from this. New tomorrows waiting for them.

If Geralt wants him like that, then Jaskier will go with him.

**Author's Note:**

> I will love to write more about these boys, with a proper background and plot hah! But for now, I think I had some stuff to get out of my chest and I love this style of writing, so I had to try it with them. I took inspiration from a bunch of songs from the playlist I made about them! I will leave a link below if anyone is interested in giving a listen! Ah, also! Since this is my first time in this fandom, I wanna say english is not my native language so apologies for any major typos! That's it!! Thank you so much for reading!! :') 
> 
> [My tumblr](http://sparklepines.tumblr.com/)  
> [My Geraskier playlist ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4CNLNcvDHhEd4WtiSCU1rA?si=mmo9W1MBSiuJ6cato6bdoA)  
> [If you like what I do, feel free to show me some support!](https://ko-fi.com/sparklepines)  
> 


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